


Idolatry

by MiriamKenneath



Category: Original Work
Genre: Mind Control, Multi, Sex Magic, Snark, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:46:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/pseuds/MiriamKenneath
Summary: Most paparazzi photographers are men.There must be something about the hunt…the chase…the catch…that appeals to the male sex. Oh, and those loooooong telephoto camera lenses. They’re big, they weigh a ton, and they probably have something to do with it as well.All of which suits me just fine, thank you very much. Men taste better than women anyway.





	Idolatry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kisuru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisuru/gifts).



Most paparazzi photographers are men.

There must be something about the hunt…the chase…the catch…that appeals to the male sex. Oh, and those loooooong telephoto camera lenses. They’re big, they weigh a ton, and they probably have something to do with it as well.

All of which suits me just fine, thank you very much. Men taste better than women anyway.

Don’t ask _me_ why. They just do, okay?

Someone’s come knocking on my dressing room door. About time. I’d told my handlers to bring them through over an hour ago.

Bleurgh, I’m knackered, and I’m in no mood to get up to open the door for them.

“Come in! It’s already open!” I yell from my settee.

“You sounded like shit tonight,” John says as he strides through the door.

“Your discerning ear is as amazing as ever, John,” I reply good-naturedly.

“And you _look_ like shit. Perfect. Give me your best scowl.” John snaps a fast series of photos.

“Hmm.” I blink the green and magenta afterimages away.

I’m not offended. We’ve known each other for more years than he can remember, and John’s insults are a sign of his enduring affection. He is a paparazzo of the old school, handsome and grizzled and clad in a wrinkled Burberry trench coat. He looks a bit like Marlon Brando in _The Godfather_ , actually.

My left eyebrow lifts when I see what manner of little creature is trailing in on John’s heels.

“And who might this be?” I ask.

“Oh, him?” John’s finger jerks behind him. “This is the new blood. Kutlay. He’s a fan.”

Now, this is a surprise. I can feel my lips curling in an anticipatory smile. The man – more boy than man, if I’m honest – called Kutlay looks like the sort that gets cast in Hollywood blockbusters as Suicide Bomber #3. He’s got unblemished nut-brown skin and big, doe-like black eyes.

“Erm. Hi…?” Kutlay says.

He’s got it _bad_. The idol-worship bug, that is. I tend to do that to people, and that’s _before_ I bother to spell them.

“Erm…er…”

“So,” John interrupts. “You asked for me. What’s the scoop? Bad trip on the latest designer drug out of China?” No niceties from John, not ever. He doesn’t play around.

But I do.

“Nah, you know I don’t do that rubbish,” I say as I rise from the settee. “But I am _famished_ – and in the mood for some comfort food.”

I wave my hand, and without a single further word, John begins removing his clothing.

“W-whaaa…” Kutlay stutters. His big eyes have grown even bigger.

“Oh, right. Almost forgot about you. I wasn’t expecting a second course tonight, but Turkish is one of my favourite cuisines.”

I wave my hand a second time, and Kutlay begins stripping too.

John, having started first, finishes undressing first. I love his square frame and slight paunch. I love the abundant salt and pepper body hair. And I especially love that tight arsehole.

First things first, though— Well, well, well! The boy with the big eyes has a big cock too. Circumcised, which is unusual for this particular country in this day and age, and already semi-hard. Whouda thunk it?

Mmm. Nice. This is gonna be good.

I wave my hand a third time, and Kutlay drops to his knees directly in front of John.

He is deeply under my spell, of course – they both are – but I must admit I am surprised by how enthusiastically Kutlay takes John’s cock into his mouth. Maybe he also thinks men taste better! He must think John tastes delicious, that’s for sure, because he is giving John the blow job of a lifetime, nipping at the tip of the foreskin, tonguing underneath it and swirling, loud, wet smacks around the flared rim of the crown, and finally taking it into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as it thickens, lengthens, and swallows John’s erect cock all the way down to the root.

John moans and jerks his hips convulsively. Kutlay hums his encouragement and bobs his head aggressively up and down the shaft. John’s legs collapse out from underneath him at that unexpected stimulation, and together they go sprawling to the floor, John on his back, and Kutlay half kneeling, half lying sideways on top of him, licking and sucking avidly, squeezing the base of the shaft of John’s cock with one hand.

I open my fly. My cock springs free, pointed up toward the heavens and already gushing eager torrents of rich, slick fluid.

The wetness is the one inhuman thing about myself that I cannot use magic to conceal. Fortunately, my meals are always so far gone by the time I’ve got my cock out that they never notice.

And the lubrication is mighty convenient for what’s to come.

I get down between John’s hairy legs, spread them wide, and line myself up. One long, searing thrust, and I’m in as far as I can go, my balls crushed between John’s hairy arsecheeks.

Ah, bliss. They say the first bite is always the tastiest. It totally is.

John is as hot as hellfire, and he clamps down onto me like a vise as I begin to thrust. I start off slow – the better to savour my meal. John has taken my cock more times than even I can recall, but although he has aged, the fucking has never grown old. I accelerate the pace of my strokes, in and out, in and out, in and out, a steady, strong rhythm, and lift one of John’s legs to my shoulder. I nuzzle and nip at the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh.

He moans. I am quite familiar with that moan. He’s close.

Kutlay, who has continued to blow John all the while like there is nothing in his life he wants more, moans in unison. He’s getting off on giving oral sex. I grin. That means he’s started feeding me too.

I decide the boy deserves his just desserts. I ram my cock right into John’s prostate, and then John is roaring and coming so hard that Kutlay practically chokes on his semen.

It’s fun to watch a string of precome drop from Kutlay’s untouched cock as he swallows, desperate to keep up with John’s spurts. In one end and out the other?

Speaking of…

I wave my hand a fourth and final time, and Kutlay stands, steps behind me, and gets into position.

A big cock should never be wasted, you know?

I pause, motionless, while Kutlay pushes himself home into me. I’m wide open and ready for him. When he’s fully seated, I resume my thrusts into John. John should be good for at least two or three more rounds – didn’t I say he was comfort food?

Well, turns out that Kutlay also has fabulous stamina, and he fucks me into two cramped, white out orgasms while I’m still busily pounding away at John. When Kutlay does finally climax, wailing and raining droplets of salt sweat onto the nape of my neck, he pumps me so full of his sexual energy and his come that for the space between two breaths I’m afraid I will be forced to purge myself of my meal like some bulimic celebrity stereotype.

Fortunately, the fear passes quickly, and John and Kutlay wrap their arms around me, caressing and kissing everywhere they can reach, worshipping my body like I am their god made flesh…which I kinda sorta am.

Afterwards, while I’m stretching my wings and enjoying that rejuvenated, freshly-fed feeling, I contemplate the paparazzi sprawled out and snoozing, naked and debauched and drained, at my feet on the dressing room floor. I’m tempted to use their own cameras to take some candid snapshots of them. It might be fun to turn the tables.

But no. They’d be embarrassed, disgraced amongst their chauvinistic paparazzi peers, and I’d rather wipe their memories down and save tasty men like these two for later.

All you can eat leftovers. If you know what I mean.

 

* * *

_**-fin-** _


End file.
